


Joie

by blackestfaery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Missing Scene, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackestfaery/pseuds/blackestfaery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Draco share a real but stolen moment in the library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joie

**Author's Note:**

> DHR Advent 2015. That's three years in a row that I've had the privilege of being invited to write for this wonderful collection! Thank you so much to those who nominated me.
> 
> My prompt this year was _Christmas Cracker_. It's a holiday tradition that I'm familiar with, but one that I very much struggled to write about. Er. You'll see what I mean.

The only warning she gets before Hermione collides with Malfoy is the soft _shush_ of his footsteps on the carpet.

There is thirty minutes left before closing, but the Hogwarts Library is already near to empty, the last of the students plodding their way to the exit in clumps. Several are yawning into their hands and others are wondering out loud on how much more studying they can take. It is a mundane soundtrack to their standoff in the stacks, and the muted laughter accompanying a conversation several bookshelves down is loud in contrast to the silence hanging in the space between them.

Hermione finds herself staring at polished boots and the title of a book half-obscured by the hem of his robes before pulling her gaze up to meet eyes gone temporarily round with surprise. She registers the height he’s gained during the summer break and a chin that is just edging out into maturity before realizing that it is her first time seeing Malfoy up close since he and his fellow Slytherin brushed past the Gryffindor table at the Start-of-Term Feast some three months ago. They have Potions class together on Monday afternoons—just earlier that day, in fact—but even then, he stays to the side of the classroom speckled with the green and silver of his housemates.

But he is without his entourage now, stripped of Crabbe and Goyle’s pandering, and perhaps it is this difference that lets him reach down between their feet to retrieve his dropped book and her bag without the scorn he seems to reserve solely for her, Harry, and Ron. He tucks the book under his arm and silently holds out the bag, one pale eyebrow rising just the slightest bit. The bag and its contents look gaudy in Malfoy’s hands, the cheap red and green plastic so out of place against the clean lines of the leather and pressed wool of his robes. The printed, static face of Saint Nicholas on one side of the bag smiles at her, his expression more drunk than jolly in the light thrown by the flickering sconces, and despite herself, Hermione feels her cheeks grow hot.

“Thank you,” she manages, careful to take the bag back from him without letting their hands touch. She expects that he will continue on his way now, but aside from his hand dropping back to his side, Malfoy remains in place, shoulders spanning the narrow row.

“That doesn’t look like revision notes, Granger.”

“Very observant, Malfoy.” There is no heat behind Hermione’s words, and the awareness of this coincides with the fact that, without her own friends hovering protectively behind her, she feels no urge to clash swords with this boy. She hesitates for one moment before gesturing with the bag.

“Christmas presents,” she explains. The lack of animation and any sort of noise makes their Muggle origins obvious.

“I gathered.” The curled edge of foil peeking out at the top of the bag seems to grab Malfoy’s attention, and without asking, he pulls out a Christmas cracker and holds it at eye level. He is silent for a few moments, inspecting and rotating the tube so that the wrapping reflects gold against his cheeks.

His tone is low and faraway when he speaks again. “My family has these as well. Bespoke ones. They shoot small fireworks into the air when they’re pulled apart. My ring was in the one I opened during Christmas of our third year. It was too big then. I had to wait until fourth year before I could wear it without it falling off.”

He turns the cracker again, and the ring in question comes into view. She’s seen him wearing it before, always on the fourth finger of his right hand, but now the details can be seen: the Malfoy crest immortalized in silver and flanked by serpentine creatures prowling its edges and the thick shank delicately carved with a banner bearing the family motto, _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_.

“Purity Will Always Conquer,” he translates, although Hermione hadn’t spoken aloud. Malfoy meets her eyes briefly before letting his gaze slide away. The surprise that had lit his eyes before is long gone. “Father reminds me every day.”

“Malfoy…” Hermione aches then. Not in the same way she does when she thinks of Harry and the little snippets of his life before Hogwarts that he shares now and then, but it’s something close to it; the throbbing is there, underneath her skin and blooming in her chest. Whatever the unhappy thoughts that haunt him may be, they are strong, pulling the corners of his mouth down and dimming his eyes to ash.

“Ours,” she finds herself saying, “aren’t that fancy.” She pauses before laughing. “Not at all, actually.”

He seems puzzled by this, so Hermione shows him instead. The very tips of their fingers touch as she adjusts his hold to one end of the cracker, and she almost falters at the impression of heat and the smallest of twitches that his hand gives. Their eyes meet over the wrapped tube and hold.

And hold.

And—

_BANG!_

He doesn’t comment on the moment, and she’s intensely thankful for that and the distraction that opening the cracker provides. Her left hand clutches the larger half of the opened tube; a shake causes the contents to tumble into her waiting palm.

“See? No fireworks. Just a paper crown, a toy or trinket, and quite possibly the most terrible Christmas joke you will ever hear.”

She’s still looking down at her palm when long fingers appear in her field of vision. They push aside the flimsy paper crown and pick up the gift.

“What is it?”

“It’s called a pen. Like a quill but the ink is inside it. And once the ink runs out, you toss it.”

A quick tutorial begins on how pressing one end of the pen causes the nib to appear and disappear on the other. This is followed almost immediately with _stop clicking the pen, Malfoy, it’s annoying_ and _hand me some parchment, Granger_.

She obliges even as she rolls her eyes. It’s ridiculous, this moment they’re in, and it can’t last. It’s already gone long enough, but Hermione finds herself smiling anyways as Malfoy doodles across the paper in long elegant swoops. He finishes with a flourish on his signature at the bottom of the page.

“I could make quite a profit if I can charm this to be self-inking,” he concludes, turning back to her.

“What do you need more money for?”

“You can never have too much, Granger,” he sniffs as he waves the pen at her. “Wait until my father hears—”

His voice stutters awkwardly to a halt, and just like that, where they are and who they are with comes rushing back to them. Hermione watches the pleased expression on Malfoy’s face drop and knows hers has done the same.

He isn’t the only one who experienced a first tonight. She’s never hated being right before.

“You probably shouldn’t tell your father,” she whispers.

His eyes have reverted back to ash. “I won’t,” he says dully. He hesitates before extending the pen towards her. “I can’t.”

She considers the cheap plastic pen and the hand holding it and the heavy ring glinting back at her and shakes her head. “Keep it. Something to remember… keep it.” Her smile is small, mournful.

Malfoy’s smile is the same. “Thank you.”

Hermione wants so badly to leave—has even started backing out of the row—and find the closest corner to hide in. Possibly press the heels of her palms against her burning eyelids when she gets there, but she is rooted in place with his next words.

“Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

Her laugh is barely more than a gust of breath but it’s real; just like this moment is.

“Merry Christmas, Draco.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing really gives this away as a missing scene from Sixth Year, but that's what this is. There was more initially to make this obvious--mostly revolving around the book Malfoy's carrying--but I wanted to keep the scene independent of what happens in the books. Like it was truly an odd little blip in what's happening in Draco and Hermione's lives at the time. It's not even a romance, but given time (and a whole lot more imagination than I have) and to borrow J.K.'s words on a different HP pairing, I do think it could have gone that way.
> 
> Also: pens could work at Hogwarts, couldn't they? They don't require electricity. And if not, please humour me for the sake of the story. Never have I ever blanked so hard with a prompt before.


End file.
